July 12, 1990
A velvety, black butterfly, larger than a sparrow, flutters around the staff room.
I gulp down cup after cup of mugi-cha, an iced tea made from an infusion of roasted barley. The mugi-cha has a light, gently sweet, nutty taste that is milder than coffee or iced black tea. I can drink it all day and feel refreshed, not jittery.
The teachers fill in all their reports by hand. Even though the scores are all entered into the computer which could easily generate a wealth of reports. But the standard forms by tradition are completed by hand, bound together with shoelaces between two pieces of hard board, sealed with red ink.
The toilet paper has no perforations.
More than half the teachers recheck their calculations with an abacus, as if they distrust their work on their handheld calculators. Abacus is a Greek word; the Japanese is soroban.
The pre-schoolers, all naked, splash in a wading pool. Their teachers spray water on them with the garden hoses.
Posted by M Sinclair Stevens
July 12, 1990
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